i never seem
to get enough
rest
these days
always waking
up
tired
to start coffee,
****,
fix my hair,
sit in bed drinking
the coffee
plumbing the depths
for
ways to get through
another day,
****,
try to remember ways
that worked
before
maybe a quote
or a character
a poem
a song
a memory
an illusion
could even be
another person
but time draws
ever nearer
ever closer
until
at last
that silent cheetah
is sprinting
before i know it
i'm sitting
in my car
turning the key
with whatever
semblance and steel
i finally gathered
-a real live
cubist representation
of my
self
driving to work
at 3:49 a.m.
passing
three black cats
in
the street
that watch me
carefully,
the glowing night
white-hot
in their eyes
satellites of some
indifferent future
hidden with
the devils
on the horizon
